


All I Want For Christmas

by Corpse_Grl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Friendship, Humor, not s3 compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 19,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpse_Grl/pseuds/Corpse_Grl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a 25 Days of Holiday Fic Prompt - Sherlock has decided to make it up to Molly for that terrible Christmas before the Fall and thank her for all her help. But every time he tries, something goes wrong. Will he get her gift to her by Christmas? - A new chapter each day. Think of it as a Sherlolly countdown to Christmas. (originally posted Days 1-15 on Fanfiction last year. I will be reposting and completing here this year.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1st December

**Author's Note:**

> I came across a prompt on Tumblr suggesting to write a fic each day of December leading up to Christmas with a different holiday themed word for each day. I've taken that idea and run with it. Hopefully everyone will enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. The prompt word will be written at the end of each chapter so as not to ruin any surprises. Let me know what you think! - CG
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in this series belong to the writers/creators of BBC Sherlock. No copyright infringement intended. Merry Christmas!

**1st December**

Sherlock thought back over that hateful holiday gathering, solidifying his resolve to do better this year. He knew what had gone wrong during their first Christmas together. Well, a lot of things had gone wrong, all of which had been his fault. This year was his chance. He could apologize to all of them, but especially to her. What could he do for the woman who deserved so much more than he could give her? His feeble apology and the kiss on her cheek seemed to have gone a long way towards making amends until bad timing and worse luck interrupted. Maybe that was it. A kiss. It was simple and she would love it. And if he planned it right, she would not expect more. It would be a token of gratitude, not a sign of affection. Not necessarily. So easy, so perfect. That was the plan.

He gathered what he needed, easily acquired this time of year, and headed to her home. He drug all her holiday decorations out and put them up for her. She would appreciate that immensely. And while doing so he hung his own decorations. Above every doorway, across the bookcase (for lack of a mantle), and incorporated into the tree. When his task was complete he stepped back to admire his work. It was festive but also understated, he had chosen only the more tasteful pieces of her collection. Oh, yes, this would do nicely. He took a seat in her armchair and waited.

When Molly stepped through the door into her home, she couldn't believe her eyes. The tree was up, lit, and beautifully decorated. Candles were on her table, surrounded by glittering ornaments. A garland gracefully draped across high bookshelves in a way she would never be able to accomplish, primarily because she was too short to reach. It was absolutely beautiful. Slowly she walked into the room and spun to take it all in.

"It's stunning, Sherlock. Thank you." She was so taken aback by the decorating, she hadn't thought to be startled by Sherlock's presence. Molly'd gotten somewhat accustomed to his spontaneous visits. Now that they were proper friends, he often stopped by when he was bored or lonely now that John had Mary. Sometimes all four of them would spend evenings here together. It was nice. But this, this was special. "You did all of this for me, why?"

"I thought you'd like it." Sherlock stood and walked towards her. The final part of the plan required just a little bit of manipulation. Subtle body language to get her to take just a few steps back into the kitchen doorway. She responded wonderfully, just as he knew she would and automatically stepped back. "I wanted to thank you, for everything." He stepped forward again, closing the distance between them and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." His eyes closed and he leaned forward to complete the plan, to kiss her trembling lips. But before he accomplished his goal…

"Ahhh...CHOOO!"

Molly sneezed right in his face.

Startled, he drew back and wiped spittle away while Molly sputtered.

"Oh! Oh, oh I'm so sorry. I *sniff*... I *sniff*...I *achoo*" Molly wiped furiously at her eyes and tried to catch her breath. She hurried into her bathroom. The sounds of sneezing and sniffling drifted back to the detective who stood dumbfounded at the threshold between her sitting room and kitchen. That was not part of the plan.

Molly eventually managed to contain herself and came back, a tissue over her nose and mouth.

"'Mm sowwy, Snurluck. 'Mm lergic to *sniff* nisletow," she mumbled and pointed above his head. He groaned. Of course. In an effort to do something nice for her, he'd turned her flat into a nasal nightmare. He'd strung bunches of mistletoe everywhere so that no matter where she stood he could kiss her, then claim the excuse that he was merely indulging in the tradition. In his mind, she had blushed and accepted his gesture for what it was. Then they could continue being friends. He'd never imagined she'd be allergic to the ridiculous ruffage.

"It's fine. My mistake. Just stay there while I remove it." Sherlock swept through the flat, undoing his careful work in a matter of minutes. It still looked nice, but he could no longer complete his earlier plan. He couldn't kiss her now. She'd want to know why he wanted to kiss her so badly. And that line of questioning was exactly something he didn't want to endure. He stuffed all of the problematic plants in a bin bag and made to leave.

"Don' goh. 'Ll be *sniff* bedder ina few minnits." She continued to sniffle and dabbed at her still watery eyes.

"It's best if I dispose of this now before you get worse. I'll see you later, Molly," Sherlock answered. Without any further remark, he left. He had only gone a few steps down when he heard another sneeze from his poor pathologist. In trying to make amends, he had only succeeded in making matters worse.

End Day 1 -  _Mistletoe_


	2. 2nd December

**2nd December**

Since the spectacular failure with the mistletoe, Sherlock spent a couple of hours revising his plan to gift Molly with a kiss. All he wanted to do was thank her for her help and apologize for his behavior. If she was still dwelling on their last Christmas together, she'd never come to his flat for another holiday party. And with so few friends, he didn't want to alienate one over something as ridiculous as Christmas.

As he thought, he realized it hadn't simply been during Christmas that he had slighted Molly. No, there had been several times when she had offered her friendship and assistance only for him to bugger it up. Even the time she had asked him to coffee, he had reacted like a selfish git, asking her to bring him a cup. "Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs." Since that time she had continued to think of his needs, bringing him coffee, fixed just to his liking. He had never thanked her for that either. Maybe that was the solution to his current problem. He would bring her coffee, or better yet, something more seasonally appropriate.

Walking down the corridor to her office he was already congratulating himself. This was almost better than the mistletoe. If he played this correctly, Molly would kiss him (on the cheek, of course), and all would be sorted. Later, perhaps at the Baker Street party, he could return her kiss with one of his own. He might be ready then to deal with the relationship change that would occur as a result. But with this gesture, he no longer worried that she would want to discuss emotions. That conversation could be safely avoided with the cup in his hand.

Molly looked up from her desk at the polite knock at her office door and was surprised when Sherlock Holmes responded to her granting access. He didn't normally knock.

"Am I disturbing you?"

He didn't usually worry about that either making Molly instantly suspicious.

"Not at all. But if you are about to tell me you need to do something dreadful in the lab, I'm afraid the answer is no. Not today. The students are using the lab to complete projects before their holiday break."

"That isn't why I came."

"Oh. Well then, what do you need?" Molly asked sweetly.

"I only came to give you this." Sherlock extended his arm and handed her a warm paper cup. Molly took it, but to his chagrin, she did not smile as he had hoped.

"What's this?"

"Hot chocolate."

"From the cafeteria? That stuff is just chalk water."

"No, I brought this in, obviously," he paused. He'd almost allowed his natural tendencies to take over. She could see the logo on the side of the cup, she knew it wasn't from the cafeteria. Something was off. "Don't you like hot chocolate?"

"Of course," Molly replied, "It's just...it isn't like you to...and I don't mean this to be rude...but it isn't like you to be nice to me."

"As I said yesterday, I'd like to thank you for everything."

"Hmm." Molly was still very suspicious. She knew better than to accept food or beverage from Sherlock if she hadn't actually seen him prepare it. "Thank you, Sherlock, but I'm afraid I can't accept this."

"Why not?" He was thoroughly confused, a position he hated to be in. His plan was going off track again.

"Because it's you."

"I don't understand."

Sherlock stared at Molly and for several seconds neither of them spoke. He slowly thought over his interaction with her, the clue had to be there somewhere. There had been no insults. He handed her the cup. She looked at it, her face did a thing. A thing like John's did whenever Sherlock handed him a cuppa. There it was. Molly and John had chatted often in his absence. They talked about him, about Baskerville. Molly was afraid the cup in her hand was drugged. She'd never drink it now. "Oh."

Molly gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Maybe some other time we can go for hot chocolate together. But right now I need to finish these reports. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes, of course. Some other time." He collected the cup from her and left without another word. Sherlock wasn't giving up though. There was still plenty of time before Christmas to say thank you to his pathologist. Plenty of time to get that kiss.

End Day 2 -  _Hot Chocolate_


	3. 3rd December

**3rd December**

When he looked out onto Baker Street the next morning, Sherlock was greeted by a blinding whiteness. It made London seem almost peaceful. Of course it wouldn't last, but he found he didn't mind a bit of quiet. He did need to think. So far he had failed twice to kiss Molly Hooper. It really shouldn't be that difficult. Granted, he was trying to engineer the moment so there would be no questions from her. And he didn't want any witnesses, thus trying to surprise her in her home and at the lab. Maybe if he moved the meeting outside he would be greeted with more success. Molly liked the outdoors didn't she? He recalled something about picnics with her father but his memory of conversations with her before his exile were somewhat clouded. He'd only retained certain facts from before while he was away, much had been deleted. Unfortunate.

He decided on a revision of yesterday's plan. He'd entice her into an outing to the park, enjoying a stroll through the winter wonderland. People watching was a good way to pass the time and keep himself from going completely mad with boredom. After their constitutional, he could invite her for hot chocolate, as he had promised the day before, and finally escort her home. Once there, perhaps they could exchange a parting kiss. It was horribly cliche, but serviceable to his desires. He imagined her lips would still taste of chocolate and that thought alone spurred him into action. Sherlock gathered his coat, scarf and gloves before dashing out the door to hail a cab to Barts.

Molly looked at the flashing screen of her mobile and shook her head at the text.

_Be outside. 15 min._

Apparently he had a case. She hoped it wouldn't be anything like the last case she had joined him on. Her legs had been tired for two days after chasing him through the streets. She was a trained pathologist, not a bloodhound, racing alongside sniffing out clues. Honestly, how did John keep up with him all the time? No matter. She'd meet him out front and see what the fuss was about.

When he popped out of the cab, leaving the door open and waiting, Molly couldn't help but smile at his obvious enthusiasm. She wrapped her arms around her body for warmth as flakes continued to fall around her.

"Couldn't you just have the body sent here?"

Sherlock's nose wrinkled in combined confusion and disgust. What on earth was she going on about?

"There's no body."

"Well, if it's a difficult case I'm not coming."

"What?" Sherlock responded. It wasn't his most intelligent answer, but Molly had a way of leaving him perplexed. This was no different. He wasn't on a case at the moment. Why would she think he was on a case?

"You asked me to meet you out here so I assumed it was for a case," she explained. Molly shuffled her feet slightly. Cold was seeping into her toes the longer they stood in front of the hospital. It also was turning her nose pink. Sherlock thought she looked quite adorable all bundled up in a striped scarf and oversize knit hat. The layers of winter clothes made her look even smaller than normal.

"Oh, no," he replied, finally catching on. "I thought I would ask you to come for a walk in the park."

"What's so special about the park if there's no crime to investigate?" Molly questioned. She was now wearing the confused look Sherlock had worn only moments earlier.

"The snow."

She laughed and held her arms wide. "There's snow everywhere, Sherlock! It's December and we live in London."

"Yes. But I was hoping you might join me for a walk and we could get the hot chocolate I promised you yesterday." Might as well spell everything out.

"I can't go for a walk right now, I've got work."

"I don't think your patients are going to wander off in your absence," he quipped, smirking.

"And it's snowing," she continued.

"That has been established, yes."

Molly only shook her head. "Why did you decide to pick the day I'd die of hypothermia to want to stroll in the park?"

His only answer was a slight shrug of his shoulders. This was beginning to feel like the interrogation he had been hoping to avoid.

"I'll freeze standing out here like this and I'm not going to the park today. Enjoy your stroll, Sherlock," Molly sighed. She tucked her mittened hands deep into her jacket pockets and walked back up the stairs into Barts. This left Sherlock scowling and frustrated as the snow continued to swirl around him. He was only broken out of his reverie by the cabbie shouting. He climbed back into the taxi and went home. Surely there was some way to get that kiss.

End Day 3 -  _Snow_


	4. 4th December

**4th December**

Although it was the season of peace and good will toward men, that rarely happened for more than a few days at a time. Since his return, there had relatively few cases worth his time, and honestly, he was thankful for it after the ordeal he had been through. But when a satisfactory seven was given him, he couldn't refuse.

This was an opportunity to put the situation with kissing Molly Hooper out of his mind, at least for a little while. He certainly wasn't going to give up. What had started as just a token of appreciation for all she had done had turned into a matter of pride. There was no way he would let this holiday season end without accomplishing his goal. But he still didn't want to confide that to anyone else. It was bad enough that he actually _wanted_  the kiss now.

The case was an intriguing one A series of art thefts that so far had left no trace evidence, not even signs of entry. The only clue was that the thieves were targeting houses left vacant by wealthy owners gone on holiday trips. When he met with John at the latest scene, Sherlock's mind was already spinning with possibilities. Thankfully no one had entered the room of the missing painting aside from the owners who had called the police so the scene was pristine.

He chuckled to himself as he observed the room and then began collecting samples.

"It's just like all the others. No signs of entry and no footprints. Not even the dust has been disturbed," John pointed out. "What have you found?"

"One of the thieves has a head cold."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because of the mucus here," Sherlock indicated a small collection of droplets on the underside of the mantle, above which the stolen painting once hung.

"One of the culprits sneezed. Disgusting," John stated and stepped away as Sherlock pocketed his swabs and they both vacated the room.

"We just need to do a bit of analysis and let this lead us in the direction of our contagious criminals."

"So to Barts?"

"Yes."

Sherlock couldn't contain his smile. True, it was possible his sample wouldn't help at all as it was barely enough to run against the police DNA databases. But maybe a new revelation would come while he was in the lab with Molly. If he impressed her by cracking the case, as often happened, and she was swept into a chaste kiss of excitement - so be it. That would be one goal accomplished and he could focus again.

Meanwhile, Molly was completing a routine post-mortem but thinking about Sherlock. He had been acting very odd lately and she was trying to decide what to make of it. The surprise a few days ago, of decorating her flat, was lovely. He never seemed interested in holidays and especially not in holiday decorating. Then there were the two strange attempts to treat her to hot chocolate. Truly she appreciated the gestures, but she didn't need that. They were proper friends now and she didn't expect anything more of him.

After cleaning up, Molly went to the staff break room to fix herself some coffee before starting on the cultures in the lab. She noticed someone had left a container of peppermint sticks out to use as seasonal coffee stir sticks. Molly cheerfully picked one up and twirled it in the brown liquid to melt off some, sweetening the brew. She sipped it and smiled, carrying both candy and cup down the hall to start work.

She was still enjoying her candy when the lab doors swung open, bringing Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes to brighten up her afternoon. Molly drew the stick from her mouth with a slight, wet noise.

The detective stopped in his tracks as his eyes were suddenly riveted to the pathologist's puckered lips. John didn't notice at all and warmly greeted her.

"Hello Molly. We've just stopped by to run a quick test for the Yard. Saliva again."

"Alright. I'll try to stay out of your way," she replied and returned the stick to her mouth. It hung between her lips as she collected up her own work to make room on the table for all of them. It was only then that she realized Sherlock was still standing in the door staring at her.

Sherlock couldn't believe what was happening. The sight of her little mouth was alluring, lips puckered and reddened from the candy stripes. And the sound! It was exactly how he had imagined it would sound to kiss her. His mind replaced yesterday's fantasy of a chocolate laced kiss with one tasting of sweet peppermint. This was too much and he could only stand there watching. Again she removed the stick, making the same little noise, to address him.

"Is something the matter?"

Sherlock attempted to answer but found his voice was caught, trapped by his rapidly closing throat. He watched mutely as Molly, while waiting for an answer, extended her tongue to run the length of the candy cane in her hand. This managed to finally draw a noise from him, a low moan. All eyes in the room grew wide.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" John inquired.

The detective, shocked by his own response, spun around and practically ran from the lab.

"What was that about?" Molly asked.

"I have no idea, but I better go find out. Sorry about this." John replied, hurrying after his friend.

"'S okay," Molly said into the now empty lab. She shrugged her shoulders, stuck the candy cane back in her mouth, and went back to work.

End Day 4 -  _Candy Cane_


	5. 5th December

**5th December**

John clambered up the stairs to Sherlock's rooms. He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to gain entry yesterday after the incident in the lab but got nowhere. Now, after both had had some time to cool down, he was hoping to get an explanation. He was pleasantly surprised to find the door open and Sherlock seated at the table in the kitchen, working on the case.

"Hmm. Yesterday was a bit different..." John started but was cut off.

"I don't really want to discuss it."

"I didn't think you would," John huffed heading into the sitting room to take his usual chair. He picked up a discarded paper and feigned interest, beginning a mental countdown.

5...4…3...2…

"Ahhhggh!" Sherlock exclaimed, pushing back violently in his chair. "Why is this so difficult?"

"The case?"

"Obviously not the case, John. Do stop being so purposefully ignorant. Molly."

"I knew this would happen."

"You what?" Sherlock swept into the room and glared at him. "What did you know would happen?"

"I spent a lot of time with Molly while you were away. Her crush on you has gone. Oh, she'll always be your friend, but she doesn't worship you anymore. Now you want it back. Childish," John tutted, shaking out the paper and hiding behind it. He knew he was playing with fire here. Molly still had feelings for Sherlock, and if the detective was just now developing feelings for her, which John felt he was, maybe a little push would send them both in the right direction.

"That is not what is going on," scoffed Sherlock, dropping onto the sofa. "I was horrible to her during the only Christmas we shared, I want to make it up to her. I initially thought to set up all her decorations but that backfired. Apparently she's allergic to...fresh greenery," he began to explain. He knew mistletoe would expose him and so chose to omit that detail.

"You got her a real tree?"

"No. It was...something else." Sherlock's voice and attention drifted away. A fresh cut tree, there was a new idea. Mummy always had one and he had performed various botany experiments, including some promising research on needle retention, on those trees. It had been years since he put up a tree but he had fond memories of them.

"...maybe you should ask Molly..." John's voice interrupted Sherlock's thoughts. He had been trying to explain to Sherlock that he probably should have asked Molly before decorating her flat as the pathologist really didn't like surprises. Unfortunately, the bulk of that advice was wasted effort on John's part.

Oh, that was a good idea. Surely there would be a moment in an afternoon spent together trimming a tree where he could sneak in a kiss. He darted from the sofa without a backward glance at John. The doctor sat smiling in his chair. He knew his friend was up to something and that it would be a riot to watch. Sherlock was spectacularly ignorant about so many things, matters of the heart being near the top of the list.

Humming carols under her breath, Molly opened her door and again marveled at the decorating Sherlock had done. It was very lovely and she still couldn't believe he had done something so nice for her without wanting anything in return. She was broken from her musings by a startling knock behind her.

"Hullo, Sherlock. I'm just getting in, do I need to hold off taking off my coat?"

"Yes, actually. I need your assistance with something."

Molly sighed. Always. She trudged back down the stairs and joined the mad detective in a cab.

"Where are we going?"

"Baker Street. I hope you aren't allergic to Norway spruce," he asked. A brief flicker of apprehension crossed his face.

"Oh. No, not that I'm aware of," Molly answered. She resigned herself to a mystery afternoon, but at least it wasn't to a crime scene in the cold.

"Good."

The rest of their trip was silent and when they arrived, he sent Molly on up while he had a word with Mrs. Hudson about decorations. His landlady indeed had some he could borrow. To his chagrin, however, she volunteered to come lend a hand. John was also still at 221B and insisted on staying to bring up the decorations. Before he knew it, the flat was full of laughter and music as Sherlock, Molly, John and Mrs. Hudson all worked to make the place festive, hanging lights, garlands and baubles on his live Christmas tree.

Several hours later they all still sat around, admiring the sparkling tree in the corner, laughing. Sherlock watched Molly as she happily talked with John about Toby's tree climbing antics. He was mesmerized by her smile and her lips, fantasizing about that kiss. Unfortunately, she needed to leave shortly after. He rose to thank her for her help and assist with her coat but let her leave without the kiss. There was no way he could kiss her under John and Mrs. Hudson's watchful eyes.

What he missed was the knowing glance the two exchanged behind his back as he bid farewell to his pathologist.

End Day 5 -  _Christmas Tree_


	6. 6th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This one is almost twice as long as previous chapters. Mostly that is because I had some really fun banter spring up that I simply couldn't cut, it was too fun. Just think of it as an apology for being so far behind. Enjoy! - CG

**6th December**

The next morning found Sherlock still staring absently at his tree. Mrs. Hudson had left shortly after Molly, gushing about how nice everything looked. John lingered for a while before leaving with a look on his face and this bothered Sherlock immensely. This particular 'look' indicated that John knew more than he was letting on. The idea he was missing something gnawed at the detective. Lost pacing the halls of his own mind, Sherlock didn't notice as his brother arrived to stand in the doorway observing the room.

"Just when I think there is nothing left to surprise me. Really, what is all of this?" Mycroft spoke, gesturing to the room with the tip of his umbrella.

Blinking back to the present, Sherlock assumed nonchalance. "Holiday decorations, obviously."

"Yes. A fresh cut tree, how sentimental."

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

"As pleasant as always. I came to personally remind you of tonight's Christmas party. I wish I could say it would be my pleasure to have you attend, but after the last one..." Mycroft said inclining his head and letting his eyes convey all the necessary disdain.

"Exactly why I don't attend. Why are you bothering to remind me?"

"Mummy insisted. Since your 'death' she has renewed her efforts to get us to be civil to one another. I'm afraid she'll be very upset with us both if you don't show up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his elder brother and tried to think of a way to convince Mummy to let him out of it. He did still have a case going, but without a fresh lead that might take days to become anything of note. He could think of no reason she would accept. It would be dreadfully boring. Last time, he had stormed out causing a scene. Mycroft hadn't invited him back.

"Am I to understand there will again be a number of vacant women throwing themselves at me all evening?"

"Unless you can arrange for a date. I have found that having a lady on one's arm does prevent unnecessary conversation."

Sherlock started to reply with a cutting remark about the lack of any women in London willing to be seen with him in public but the tree in front of him reminded him there was one woman he could ask. One that he owed a kiss.

"Fine. You can tell Mummy I will be there. With a plus one."

"See you this evening, Sherlock," his brother said in parting. Back in his car, Mycroft smiled slyly and placed a call. "Operation Waltz of the Wallflowers is a go. Nutcracker has accepted the invitation."

"Are the code names really necessary?"

"When one is dealing with Nutcracker, one learns to take precautions, Sugar Plum Fairy."

"So you've said. Although I wish you would stop calling me  _that_."

"I have a codename as well."

"Yes, but Drosselmeyer is a much better codename than  _Sugar Plum Fairy._ "

Mycroft chuckled, it delighted him to no end to be able to make both his brother and Dr. Watson uncomfortable with this whole operation. "In any event, is Clara ready?"

"She will be. I suppose I should thank you for this."

"It really was my pleasure," Mycroft replied and ended the call.

_-x-x-x-_

Molly looked up from her computer to the knocking on her door. She let out a squeak of surprise when she recognized Sherlock through the peephole. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

"Molly! I came to bring you this," Sherlock said brightly, handing her an envelope.

"What is it?" she asked warily. Sherlock was smiling too much lately.

"Open it."

She did and pulled out a black card with silver print. "An invitation. To a formal holiday party. Tonight!"

"Yes. My family has this tedious party every year and I am obligated to attend."

"Why are you telling me?" Molly inquired, although she had a very good idea. Surely he wasn't asking her to come with him.

"I would like you to come with me."

Molly's heart skipped a beat and the deep breath she took before opening the door escaped in a single rush.

"Oh...oh...okay," she stammered.

"Excellent," Sherlock exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I'll bring a car to pick you up at half six."

Molly watched as he loped down the stairs and out of her building before turning back to grab her phone. She dialed frantically, "Mary! Mary, I need your help. Sherlock just invited me to his family's incredibly posh party and I have nothing, I repeat, nothing to wear. Please, help."

"Calm down, love. I've got just the dress. I'll be over in twenty." Mary winked at her 'Sugar Plum' who shook his head but texted Mycroft anyway.  _Clara is in._

"Thank you so much. Ta." Molly ended the call and collapsed into her couch, still holding the card.

_x-x-x_

When his car pulled to her curb, Sherlock felt an unfamiliar nervousness. It was silly. All he was doing here was thanking her for all her assistance and apologizing for ruining Christmas for her three years ago. He tamped down his emotions, which were unruly as of late, and climbed the stairs to her flat. She was already bundled up in a dark coat with her head wrapped in a shawl. Only her face was exposed and once again, Sherlock felt drawn to her smile.

"Shouldn't we be going? The invitation said drinks began at seven," Molly said, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Of course." He took her arm and escorted her to the waiting car.

The house was already full of cheerful chatter when they arrived. Servers carried flutes of sparkling wine and trays of food among all the guests. Molly's nervousness increased ten-fold. She anxiously returned to his side after leaving her coat with an attendant. This was insane, she didn't belong here. Looking up to Sherlock, however, she saw the same unease on his face. Suddenly she realized he was just as out of place as she was, maybe more so. Molly squeezed his arm gently.

Sherlock looked down at Molly when he felt her tighten her grasp on his arm. Her hair was pulled up in a soft twist at the back of her head. The silver spangled fabric of her dress flowed over her shoulders, cascading in folds that outlined her exposed scapulae. Sheer sleeves trailed the sequins from her shoulders to her elbows. And the knee length hem complimented her petite stature. She seemed almost ethereal in the light. What surprised him most however, was that where she had been a bundle of nerves when they had entered, she now appeared quite calm and was smiling at him.

He reached for her hand to lead her into the crowd, but at the exact same moment, a guest who had already indulged too much bumped into her from behind. Before he could stop it happening, Sherlock watched Molly knock a full tray of glasses from a server. She was drenched.

"Ooooohhhh!" she squealed, shaking sticky alcohol from her fingertips. "I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean...it was an accident..."

Sherlock glared at the red-faced reveler who was oblivious to the damage he had caused. "I'll find Mycroft and see about getting this mess cleaned up."

"No!" Molly exclaimed. She rushed on as he stared at her puzzled, "I mean. Why don't you make your apologies and take me home. I'm too embarrassed to stay here now."

He nodded, although he could tell she was being dishonest. She looked almost pleased. He met her again at the door, wrapped in her coat but smelling of the alcoholic shower she'd just had.

They remained silent on the ride back to her building. But when they arrived at her door he was compelled to ask, "Why did you want to leave so badly? I thought you would enjoy drinks and dancing."

"I was covered in champagne. It is terribly uncomfortable," she answered moving to open her door. He stopped her with a hand on her wrist. Their eyes met and he continued.

"Yes, so why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Molly asked innocently. He rolled his eyes and stared at her. Molly huffed in response. "Fine. I could tell you were uncomfortable and I took the easiest route to get us both out of there."

"You did it for me?" Sherlock was dumbfounded.

"Of course, all of that was too much, not your kind of atmosphere," she laughed. "Too bad about the dress though. Hope Mary will understand."

Sherlock released her hand and she opened the door. She turned to close it and caught his eye again.

"You were angelic tonight, Molly, in both actions and appearance. I'm sorry things happened the way they did."

Molly blushed. "Thank you, Sherlock, but it wasn't your fault. Goodnight." She gave him final smile before closing the door softly. His plans to kiss her had been dashed once again.

End Day 6 -  _Angel_


	7. 7th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know some readers are getting frustrated about the lack of success that Sherlock has had so far. I hate to say, but that was kinda the point. It will be a loooong wait. Hopefully you will all bear with me. Onward! - CG

**7th December**

She may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she had learned a few things about dealing with Sherlock Holmes over the years. He could be stubborn, violent, and irascible. But he could also be charming, sweet and kind when it suited him. He was growing into a fine man, one she was always so proud to know. If only he could find someone nice to settle down with.

At first, she thought that was how John fit into his life. But since the terrible tragedy of his fake death, and John's marriage to Miss Mary she realized she may have been wrong about him. While trimming the tree with her boys and little Miss Molly, well, she could very well see where his affections lay. John had later confirmed it. Her Sherlock had a bit of a crush on that shy girl and wasn't it lovely. It was also clear he had no idea what to do about it.

With that in mind, Mrs. Hudson decided to help things along in her own way. She knew Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, and brother-in-arms, John, were up to something. But what the boys didn't know was that there was a surefire way to every man's heart, his stomach. Sherlock was no exception.

She waited until she heard him bound down the stairs, shouting about going out to investigate a promising new lead in his burglary case. He would be gone for a few hours at least, plenty of time for her to put her own matchmaking scheme into action. Picking up the phone, she dialed Molly's mobile.

"Hullo, Mrs. Hudson. How're you today?"

"Just fine dearie. I was wondering if you were free today to help me do a little holiday baking."

"I don't have to be at work until 4. So I can be there in thirty. Will that work?"

"Wonderful. See you soon," Mrs. Hudson replied. She bustled into her kitchen to pull out ingredients for a holiday classic, one that happened to also be Sherlock's favorite.

Molly was greeted by Sherlock and John's cheerful landlady at the door and followed her into the kitchen of 221A.

"Is Sherlock in?" Molly asked, pointing upwards. "He's been acting a bit weird lately. Well, more than usual."

"No, he's out galavanting about for that case he mentioned the other day. He is a funny sort, isn't he? But he can be so good when he wants to be."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything bad. He's just...different. Anyway, what're we baking?" Molly hurried to change the subject. She loved to bake and looked forward to an afternoon with the kindly older woman.

"Mince pies using a secret family recipe, love. I haven't got any children myself and felt it was time I shared it with someone. It's one of Sherlock's favorites and I make them every Christmas."

"I'm honored," Molly said blushing. "Where do we start?"

Both women tied on aprons and spent the next few hours happily chatting while rolling out dough, assembling the pies with Mrs. Hudson's secret filling. Throughout, she imparted her recipe to Molly and they both giggled about Sherlock's notoriously strange eating habits. It wasn't long before the warm spicy smell of fresh mince pies was filling the tiny flat and spilling out into the entryway. Mrs. Hudson checked the clock and began hoping Sherlock would come back soon as it was almost time for Molly to leave.

"Come sit and chat with me a bit," she said, "I'll put the kettle on and let these pies cool. You'll want to take a couple with you."

"Oh, I don't want to impose. This has been so fun but I should be getting on to the hospital."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Hudson insisted, stalling for time. "You should get to enjoy some of these since you went to all the trouble to help me."

"It was no trouble, but I really do have to go. Thank you for having me Mrs. Hudson."

With that Molly got her coat and gave Mrs. Hudson a quick hug. The poor woman seemed very upset that Molly was leaving, she must be so lonesome this time of year. Molly certainly understood that and made a note to try and drop by again soon. Waving she walked out onto Baker Street and on down the street.

Just as she turned the corner and was out of sight, Sherlock and John popped out of a cab and into 221. The delicious aroma had both men's mouths watering and Sherlock immediately went in to 221A.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He called out, "Without reservation, the best part of this season are your pies."

He darted into her kitchen and had already taken a large bite before John and Mrs. Hudson had joined him. He savored the fruit and spice mixture and secretly wondered if there was a way to use chemistry to reverse-engineer her secret recipe.

"I'm so glad you like them, lovie," his landlady said, "I just wish you'd gotten here a few moments sooner."

"Why's that, Mrs. H?" John asked. He helped himself to a pie as well.

"Because Molly was here helping. She would have liked to hear your compliment on her cooking."

"Molly made these?" Sherlock asked, wiping crumbs from his mouth.

"Well, she helped. And I shared my recipe with her."

"Wish Mary could bake like this," John added. "Maybe you girls could invite her over next time."

While John and Mrs. Hudson continued to discuss baking lessons for his wife, Sherlock snagged a second pie and excused himself to his own rooms upstairs. He didn't realize Molly could bake. And now she knew the secret to Mrs. Hudson's wonderful mince pies. He was truly disappointed he had missed her, he could just picture her covered in flour while she worked, her face bright and smiling. A quick kiss of thanks would have been perfect, the hint of fruit and spice on their lips.

End Day 7 -  _Pie_


	8. 8th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest prompt word so far. As a result this is more of a case fic than a holiday fic, but I got the word in and there is still hints at the overarching story. - CG

**8th December**

The lead from the previous day had indeed been promising. More than promising, it had enabled him to close the case. Sherlock's hope was that he could now fully concentrate on his situation with Molly. But no sooner had he settled in his chair to think than a chime sounded on his computer, alerting him to a message on his blog. So few cases came via his blog, that at first he tried to ignore it. It was probably just spam. Unfortunately, the temptation of a potential case was more than he could stand. He lasted five minutes before going to check his inbox.

It was a real case, one that could prove very interesting. Distraught widow insisting that someone had murdered her husband and needed Sherlock to prove it. Police were insisting it was a natural death. Her reasoning was that her husband had been acting oddly lately, not much to go on by itself. What caught Sherlock's attention was her mention of her husband's obsessive compulsive disorder known as pica, he routinely ingested items that were non-nutritional. Fascinating. He took the case, thoughts of Molly pushed to the background for the moment.

Sherlock messaged all the appropriate individuals to get the case underway. The body of the deceased was sent to Molly to begin an autopsy and Lestrade would see if there were any recent threats to the deceased. The client and John met with him at 221b. The interview provided some new information, but still nothing to prove murder. He would need the autopsy results. Leaving the widow with John, he left for the hospital.

At the morgue, Molly was thankful to have something to focus on. The holiday season was in full swing around her and although it was better than many she had experienced, especially in recent years, she was still wary. Things between Sherlock and herself had taken a decidedly weird turn and she wasn't sure what to make of it. Hopefully, this case would set them back on familiar ground.

Molly soon recognized why this body had come to Sherlock. Although the paperwork listed heart disease as the cause of death, there was nothing to support that conclusion. This man's heart and lungs were perfectly healthy. Moving on to his stomach contents, Molly discovered something so bizarre she knew instantly it was time to text him.

_You better get down here. Stomach contents like I've never seen._

_On my way. Deceased had OCD - Pica._

_That does explain a lot. But still, you'll want to see this._

Sherlock smiled with pure pleasure. Molly was no stranger to the casework he did. If it was enough to warrant this reaction from her, it must be very exciting. He couldn't wait to see what she'd found. A small voice in his head suggested he was also excited to see Molly. There was still the matter of that kiss, and possibly a long conversation to go with it. Brushing that aside, Sherlock found Molly in the morgue, still working on the body.

"What had he swallowed?" Sherlock asked by way of introduction.

"All kinds of things really. Mostly little brown bits of plastic." She handed him the container of contents to inspect.

"That would be the straws his wife provided for his compulsion. Seems he was sneaking things though. A couple of paperclips, that fits with what his wife said about his preferences for metal objects." Sherlock picked up a probe and began prodding at some unidentifiable masses in the contents.

"Was this stuff what killed him?" Molly asked.

"Doubtful. He had been having symptoms of something else. Wife describe him as having recently been moody with signs of memory loss. He had also complained about numbness in his fingers."

"Clearly not heart disease. What about poisoning?" she suggested.

"That would explain the new symptoms, and confirm the widow's suspicion someone was trying to kill him. But how was it administered? Nothing here looks to be the source," he gave the container back to Molly and turned to think.

Molly looked at the various things the man had swallowed and used the probe to unfurl one of the mystery wads of silver and plastic. Not paying attention to Sherlock who had retreated to his mind, she wondered aloud.

"Hmmm… could be…that would be a temptation for anyone with pica. I wonder…" Molly went over to the computer station and did a quick search. Sherlock had heard her musings and followed, reading over her shoulder. "I need to take some blood," she muttered. Molly turned and bumped into the detective. Both of them looked startled.

Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock spoke, "What are you thinking, Molly?"

"Uhm, I…well, I was just thinking," she stammered, momentarily flustered by his intense gaze. She moved back to stand next to the body and stared fixedly at the mystery object before continuing, "This looks like tree tinsel. And the symptoms you describe match for lead poisoning. What if someone put lead tinsel on his tree?"

"Lead tinsel hasn't been sold commercially since the seventies because of the exact reason you point out, it's toxic and a temptation to children and animals," Sherlock countered, moving to stand across from her.

Not ready to dismiss her hypothesis, Molly continued, "Yes, but it is still available on the internet. Someone who knew about his fixation would have easily been able to purchase some and slip it into his decorations."

Their eyes met again and this time Sherlock broke the silent staring contest.

"Molly Hooper, you are amazing." In that moment, he would have loved to sweep her into a kiss. But even he realized the open body between them was a mood dampener. No place for a first kiss. Instead, he rushed to make an excuse to leave. "I need to get that enemies list from Lestrade."

Looking after his retreating form, Molly was blushing and felt like she could burst with pride. Had she really just broken Sherlock's case? And had he really called her amazing? In a completely unprofessional display she did a dance of excitement before turning back to close the unfortunate victim's chest.

End Day 8 -  _Tinsel_


	9. 9th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another long-ish chapter and one I've been looking forward to writing since I saw the prompt list. I'm very much enjoying the slow torture of Sherlock. Hope you all forgive me. - CG

**9th December**

"We can't just give up on them, Sugar Plum."

"Will you stop with that already. Codenames were all Mycroft's idea and his plan clearly backfired."

Mary loved that John turned a little pink every time she used his 'codename' and so she had no intentions of stopping. "It wasn't his fault that Molly ended up taking a bath in booze," Mary giggled, smiling at her husband.

"I still wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock had something to do with that. He had that 'look' when I asked him about it. Which is why I'm not sure this is a good plan." John hesitated while putting on his coat, trying his best to get out of his wife's matchmaking scheme tonight.

"Nonsense. I thought of it, so it's a brilliant plan. Besides, we'll be there to make sure nothing goes wrong this time," Mary soothed, "Just make sure he's at the restaurant on time."

"He's going to refuse."

"Tell him Molly will be there and I'm sure there will be no trouble at all," Mary laughed. She tightened John's muffler, gave him a quick peck on the lips and pushed him out the door. There would be no excuses given to Mary Watson nee Morstan.

Molly waved excitedly as she saw Mary coming down the hall. She had insisted on taking her friend out after her shift today as a way of apologizing for the state of the dress she had borrowed. Mary claimed that it was nothing that couldn't be taken care of by the cleaners, but Molly felt terribly guilty, especially considering the real reasons behind the 'accident'.

"Just closing up shop," Molly said. Her keys jingled merrily as she locked her door and turned to link arms with her friend. "Where are we going? It's your choice, my treat."

"There's a little curry place close to Hyde Park I've been wanting to try. Mind if John joins us there? We have plans in that part of the city later."

"Sounds good to me. Let's go," Molly answered, linking arms with her friend. The two of them talked and laughed the whole trip to the restaurant, where Molly was surprised to see not only John but Sherlock as well.

Sherlock had been surprisingly easy to get into a cab when John mentioned going out with the girls. The detective had practically jumped at the idea of meeting Mary and Molly for a curry. John chose to save mentioning going to the park until they got to the restaurant. Then he would have Mary for back up. It was her plan after all.

Throughout their meal, all four friends had talked amicably about cases, work in the surgery and hospital. To any outside observer, it would have seemed perfectly normal. Until they had all finished and Mary put her plan into action.

"So you're joining us tonight, right, Sherlock?" Mary asked, mopping up the last of her lamb korma.

"To do what exactly? We just finished eating," he replied.

"John and I were going ice skating and thought you two might join us. What do you say?"

"Oh, ice skating sounds like so much fun!" Molly exclaimed, "I haven't been since I was just a girl." She realized a moment too late that this would be another potentially awkward scene with Sherlock and tried to think of excuses to leave. "But I don't want to intrude on your date."

"Nonsense," Mary piped up, ignoring the look of doubt in John's eyes. "The four of us always have such fun together."

"No, you guys go ahead," Molly rushed to stand, tugging on her coat. "It's been a long day and I'm sure Sherlock has a case or something to be getting back to..."

"Not at all," the detective interrupted, shocking all three of his friends into silence. His eyes caught Molly's and with the slightest hint of a smile he continued, "It would be my pleasure to join you, Molly."

Mary winked at John as the four of them gathered their coats and left for the rink. While they all laced up their rented skates, Molly gushed about how much fun she'd had skating as a child.

Sherlock grumbled something indecipherable under his breath. He was reviewing what string of reasoning had led him to this moment. At Mary's first question at dinner he had anticipated she was up to something. He had every intention of a quick exit, despising the feeling of being coerced. But when Molly seemed so enthusiastic about the idea, all thoughts of leaving flew from his mind. This was his opportunity. Time to accomplish the goal that had eluded him for better than a week. So he had readily agreed to the trip. Unfortunately, he had to negotiate these blasted skates first.

He stood on unsteady legs, focusing intently on his new center of gravity. Molly looked up at him and giggled.

"Sherlock, have you ever skated before?"

"No. But the physics involved should be fairly basic. Children do this for goodness sake."

Molly laughed again and stood beside him. She took his hand and smiled up at him. "We'll go slow at first." Seeing the beginnings of a sarcastic remark on his lips, she added, "Just until you get your bearings, of course."

Several minutes later, Sherlock and Molly were moving well around the rink. Staying near the edge, Molly never let go of his hand. He realized it was actually quite nice spending time with her like this. Molly was a wonderful instructor, not that he had any doubts considering how she always had patience with him in the lab. Feeling more confident now, he dropped her hand and pushed off ahead, gaining speed.

"I told you I was a quick study!" he called. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, searching for her face in the crowd. He saw her wide smile and again imagined kissing her. Just as soon as she caught up with him, he'd make his move.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled back, pointing. "Look out!"

He had been so lost in his thoughts he had not been watching his own forward motion, momentum carrying him directly toward a group of pre-teen girls. Twisting and turning his body, he managed to avoid all of them. However, his own balance was lost and he fell spectacularly, a mess of tangled limbs. Molly rushed over and knelt beside him on the ice.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm fine." Sherlock grumbled. He went to stand but when a twinge of pain radiated from his left ankle he realized more than his ego had been injured. "On second thought…" he hissed.

Mary, John and Molly all helped Sherlock limp to a bench and later into a taxi. Both doctors and nurse agreed he had only a mild sprain. John would go back with him to Baker Street to get him up the stairs and he'd be back to normal in a few days. What bothered Sherlock more was that his night had again ended without a kiss.

End Day 9 -  _Ice Skating_


	10. 10th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Wow! Big development this chapter, so...yeah. Let me know what you think!- CG

**10th December**

For the better part of the next day, Sherlock sat with his leg propped up on the sofa, scowling. At one point he had attempted to play the violin but John arrived shortly after he had started and berated him for not properly following instructions. Sherlock hated to admit that the doctor had been right as his ankle began to throb with pain from standing. So it was that he had resigned himself to the sofa, with enough loud complaining to drive John away for the rest of the day.

Things couldn't really be any worse. No cases and no experiments because of his blasted ankle. Why had he even agreed to go ice skating in the first place? It had been a terrible idea driven entirely by emotion. Pride goeth before a fall, the saying went and his certainly had. What had compelled him to let things get that out of hand?

Molly.

He had agreed to go only to fulfill his mission of giving her a thank you kiss for Christmas. Yet things kept falling apart, nothing had gone according to his plans so far. He scolded himself. This was nothing in comparison to other challenges he had faced. He would not quit. But why was it so difficult? And why a kiss? He had always claimed that women were not his area, they were too distracting. The work was all that mattered. This kiss could change things, become an even bigger distraction. John had said her crush on him had faded and that could be enough to keep everything from changing. But the idea of that saddened and irritated him. It might be time for things to change.

Deciding there was nothing more to be done about it in his current state he realized that it was time for tea. Not fully able to fix a meal in his current state, Sherlock bellowed for assistance. Even if he didn't get anything more than tea and mince pies, it would suffice. Damn his leg!

"Mrs. Hudson!" he called out again.

There were footsteps on the stairs but they didn't match with his landlady's shuffling gait.

"Sherlock, quiet down for heaven's sake. A sprained ankle is hardly the end of the world."

"Molly!" he replied in surprise. "What're you doing here?"

She laughed good-naturedly at him. "I figured you'd be bored out of your mind and driving poor Mrs. Hudson mad. Looks like I was right." Molly came into his kitchen, placing a couple of sacks on the table and draping her bag and coat in a chair. "I brought Chinese, John said it was your favorite."

"It is. But I still don't understand. Why did you come?" Sherlock shifted to better see and deduce his pathologist. She was dressed casually, although clearly had changed since her shift. Her hair was tied into a braid that she was nervously twisting the tail of between her fingers. No clues as to why she was here.

"Just thought I'd keep you company. It's a lonely time of year." Turning away from him she picked up the other bag from his table. "I also thought you might want a look at this hand, advanced frostbite. Too much winter, I suppose. Although,  _you can never have too much winter in the winter_." Molly giggled, and although he had no idea what was so amusing, Sherlock found the sound made him feel a little less miserable.

He hoisted himself up and limped gracefully, well somewhat, into the kitchen.

"I disagree. Personally, I've had far too much winter." He punctuated his disapproval by collapsing into a chair and reaching hungrily for a take-away container.

"Ah, it was a quote. Didn't think you would recognize it. That's why I also brought this," Molly rumaged in her bag pulling out what looked like a small textbook. "Figured if you didn't feel like examining the hand, you might enjoy reading a bit. This is one of my favorites. I can always find a piece that speaks to me." She ran her fingers over the cover before handing it to Sherlock.

 _The Collected Works of Robert Frost_.

"He's a renowned American poet," Molly continued, knowing he didn't have much knowledge of literature. " _Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length_  really helped after you..., well, let's just say it helped."

Sherlock nodded and looked up at her. He was only just realizing the complexity of her and it was mesmerizing. Before him stood a woman of such effortless kindness with vast stores of hidden resolve. Sherlock's heart began to race. His tongue became heavy and clumsy in his mouth. Molly coughed lightly and broke the spell.

"Can I have some of that or am I going to be stuck with the purple hand for dinner?"

"Don't make jokes, Molly," he replied, but he handed her a box with a smirk.

Over the next couple of hours they ate, talked about Sherlock's recent cases, and performed some enlightening experiments on the frostbitten fingers. When it was time for her to leave, he found he really wished she could stay.

"We still haven't read any of your book," he began, trying to come up with a reason for her to stay just that little bit longer. This went beyond still wanting, genuinely wanting, to kiss her.

"You hang on to it for a while. Bring it back to me when you are walking again." She sat it and a hot cup of tea on the table in front of his couch where he was now re-situated. "Goodnight," she said, walking out of his door and downstairs out of his sight.

Opening the book, he found what was obviously a favorite of hers. It had been underlined in sections and she'd made comments in the margins.

_Revelation by Robert Frost_

_-x-_

_We make ourselves a place apart_

_Behind light words that tease and tout_

_But oh, the agitated heart_

_Till someone find us really out._

_-x-_

_'Tis pity if the case require_

_(Or so we say) that in the end_

_We speak the literal to inspire_

_The understanding of a friend._

_-x-_

_But so with all, from babes that play_

_At hide-and-seek to God afar,_

_So all who hide too well away_

_Must speak and tell us where they are._

He may not have kissed her this evening, but he was beginning to understand why he wanted to so very badly. And what he might need to do in order to make that happen.

End Day 10 -  _Frost_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I'm actually pretty proud with how the prompt word was worked into this one. Both in the hand (frostbite) and the poetry. Molly's quote is from the Robert Frost poem "Snow." And the other poem she mentions, that is the whole title should you want to look it up. It truly is a lovely poem, if a bit sad. I really like Frost's poetry and hope you enjoyed this little bit too. - CG


	11. 11th December

**11th December**

_Better get to Barts._

_My doctor advised I stay at home._

_Forget that. Molly needs you._

Without further hesitation, Sherlock launched himself out of his chair and hobbled into his room to get dressed. What could have possibly happened? Molly, John and Mary had all gone to the annual hospital holiday fundraising ball. He was quite pleased that he had had the excuse of a sprained ankle to keep him from being required to attend. If John thought it was necessary for him to come now, though, something serious must have happened. Adrenaline coursing through his veins made it that much easier to ignore the pain in his ankle as he thundered down the stairs and hailed a cab.

_-x-x-x-_

Molly opened her eyes and blearily looked around her bedroom. What time was it? She reached out and caught hold of her phone. 10:23 AM DEC 12. She sat bolt upright in bed. It wasn't possible. Her head spinning, Molly reached up with both hands to rub her temples. The last thing she remembered was being at Barts the night before. How on earth had she gotten here? Fumbling more with her phone, she managed to unlock it and call Mary.

"Oh, sweetie! Are you okay?" Mary's voice was gentle but clearly concerned.

"Um, Mary, what happened last night?"

"What do you remember?"

"I remember being at Barts. There was dancing, music, and drinks. Everyone was having a lovely time, well, most everybody." Molly knew she hadn't been the best company last night even during the parts of the night she remembered.

"Yeah, you were a bit out of sorts. Seemed like you had something on your mind."

"You could say that," Molly replied. She had been thinking about Sherlock. About how she really should be over him but she wasn't. And how lately that hadn't seemed as much of a burden as it had been in the past. For the past several days she'd seen a lot more of Sherlock. More of his smile, more of the part of him that was so very wonderful. "I remember getting kinda tipsy from the eggnog."

"Honey, you were more than tipsy. You got truly sloshed."

Molly let out a groan. Of course she had. "That explains a lot. Thanks for helping me get back home."

"That, um, that wasn't me," Mary confessed.

"What do you mean? How did I get home?"

"Well, see, you were acting so unlike yourself. You kept talking about... And neither John or myself was entirely sober. So, we thought, well…" Mary trailed off.

"Oh, Mary, please. Please, please... _Please!_ Tell me you did not call Sherlock."

"We did."

"Shit."

"I'm sorry, we thought we were helping."

"I gotta go. I'll call you later." Molly hung up and stared down at her phone. Only one person would be able to tell her exactly what had happened last night. Unfortunately, she knew that in her eggnog fueled fuming she very likely had said or done things that could ruin any remaining chance she had with him.

Gingerly stepping out of bed she realized she was still wearing last night's clothes, although her shoes had been removed and her hair was down. Well, at least she still had some dignity in the eyes of the detective. Molly got a quick shower and clean clothes, trying to feel a little more human. Her hangover was not as bad as she had expected. Hoping that some tea and toast would help settle her stomach, if not her nerves, she ventured to her kitchen. What she did not expect to see was a note from Sherlock. If she hadn't been nauseous before, she certainly was after reading it.

**_Molly -_ **

**_I'm sure you have a lot of questions this morning. I would like to start by assuring you I will not tell anyone about anything that occurred last night. I understand that most of what you said and did was a result of far too much alcohol. I advise you steer clear of eggnog in the future. If you would like to talk about it, you know how to reach me._ **

**_\- Sherlock_ **

**_P.S. - I do think we should talk. We clearly need to address some issues between us._ **

Molly let out another groan and dropped her head onto the tabletop.

_-x-x-x-_

Sherlock swept into the room and not a soul noticed. Everyone was too absorbed in their own conversations. It was irritating but not his problem right now. He needed to find - ah, John. Standing near the tables to the far right corner of the room were John, Mary and a clearly inebriated Molly. The rush of panic that had been driving the detective so far abated somewhat, replaced with confusion and a bit of irritation. John had made this seem like an emergency. He had just gotten close enough to them to speak, when Molly practically assaulted him.

"YOU! Do you know how much you've messed my life up?! Do you have any idea?!" Molly was stabbing into his chest with her finger. Sherlock looked curiously over her head to John who shrugged.

"She's a bit pissed, mate. And it seems to be your fault."

"What did I do?" Sherlock asked.

Molly answered, "OH, for someone with such skills of observation and deduction you are possibly the biggest idiot I know, Sherlock Holmes."

"You better take her home before she causes a scene," Mary suggested.

Sherlock nodded and placed his hands on Molly's shoulders, steering her through the crowd to the exit. The entire time, she was spewing slurred speech at him.

"For years I clean up your messes...treat me like…deduce my boyfriend is gay but _not_ that he's a serial killer…nearly get blown up...humiliation...when all I was trying to do...But nooo, don't tell Molly...tell me I count just before you _DIE_...you were dead to everyone...I had to keep the secret...fanfare and celebration...now this, whatever _this_ is."

Sitting beside him in the cab to her home, Molly finally quieted down enough for him to get a word in.

"I am sorry, Molly."

"For what, Sherlock," she snapped, turning to face him. "You keep saying that, but what are you asking forgiveness for? Lying or leaving or for coming back?"

"I didn't ever lie. You do count. More than you can imagine. I've been trying for days now to tell you that."

Looking at her face, flushed with alcohol and the passion of her speech, Sherlock was at a loss. There was fire in her eyes beckoning him like a moth to a flame. Now was his moment. He leaned into her, she into him. Her eyes fluttered closed and she fell completely forward into his lap. Sherlock looked down sadly. She'd passed out.

He carried her into her flat, which was harder than it might have been because of his injured leg, and took her to her room. After removing her shoes and taking her hair down, he brushed it out of her face and placed a soft kiss to her temple. It wasn't the kiss she deserved, and she wouldn't remember it in the morning, but it was a start.

End Day 11 -  _Eggnog_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: (Originally written December 2013) AHH! Mini-episode feels! *cough* Sorry. This chapter was supposed to feature Lestrade and the Yard, but after today's mini-episode I had too many Lestrade feels to write him well. But what came about when I changed the venue, I like better than my original plan. Emotions galore and a big set-up for the next day. Hope you all enjoyed it (especially since he got a little kiss in, even though it isn't the 'real' kiss he is still hoping for).
> 
> And thanks to all those who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story. It really means the world to me. Reviews are the best present in the world for a writer because they inspire us to keep going. Thanks from the bottom of my heart. - CG


	12. 12th Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This one was a bit of a struggle and not as humorous as I would have liked. Don't give up though, I haven't lost the humor, it's just been delayed for a little while. - CG

**12th December**

Sherlock looked down at his mobile. 7:02 pm. He wouldn't be surprised if Molly didn't call today. She very likely had a substantial hangover. Additionally, she had to work a half shift today. It would be tomorrow before she called. If she called. Molly had been incredibly upset with him and he admitted he deserved it.

_"What are you asking forgiveness for? Lying or leaving or for coming back?"_

Her words were haunting him and since he arrived home last night, Sherlock had been trying to come up with a suitable answer. Of course he was apologizing for leaving. More than that, though, he wanted to apologize for hurting her. But no kiss was going to make amends for that. He needed to do something more. What could he do to make her listen to him? It was time to seek advice from someone more experienced in women and apologies. He sent a text to both John and Lestrade.

Both men brought food and drink with them when they came in. Lestrade brought pizza and beer, John had a shepherd's pie and cider. Apparently, they both thought this discussion was going to take some time. Sherlock was appreciative, still limping around his flat meant meals consisted of whatever was in his cupboards. There wasn't much.

"Have to admit, never thought I'd be here, having this conversation," Lestrade began, finishing his second beer.

"I didn't ever think I'd be in this situation," Sherlock confessed. Alcohol was apparently loosening his tongue as well as it had Molly's. He would need to be careful, he thought, as he poured another glass of cider.

"And what exactly is the situation?" John asked. He wondered if Sherlock was going to really be honest with them about his feelings for the pathologist or if he only wanted advice on how to get out of the awkward situation of last night's public humiliation.

"Last night, Molly was quite clear about the fact that I have hurt her. Countless times in the past, not the least of which was the last Christmas we spent together. I have been trying to apologize to her for that this year. However, something always keeps me from being successful."

"That's what you said last week," John added. "You attempted to decorate her flat."

"You?! Decorating? I would have paid to see that," Lestrade laughed. "She didn't like it?"

"She was allergic." Sherlock was beginning to doubt the wisdom of inviting these two over. "Do either of you have any useful advice or is mocking and drinking going to be the bulk of it. I got plenty of that last night."

"Ah, yeah." John took another swig of cider, "What happened last night?"

"I promised I would not say," Sherlock answered, sipping from his own drink.

"Then how are we supposed to help?" Lestrade asked.

"I can extrapolate from the basics. What would you do to apologize to a woman?"

"Depends on how you feel about her," John replied. Anticipating the glare from his best friend regarding the mere mention of 'feelings,' he continued. "How I apologize to my sister is vastly different from how I apologize to Mary."

"Most women like flowers," Lestrade contributed, killing his third beer and contemplating a fourth. Amazing how much easier talking to Sherlock was when he used alcohol to knock the edge off.

"But Molly isn't like other women. This has to be special, she deserves it." Sherlock found himself protesting. He looked at his glass of cider. It was empty for the...third, no fourth time this evening. Maybe he should slow down.

"Maybe start with that," John said. "Tell her how you feel. Be honest. I know it's hard for you, but like you just said, she deserves it." He drained his glass, knowing that was the end of the conversation. Sherlock's eyes had already glazed over. Lestrade recognized it as well and the two older men let themselves out.

_-x-x-x-_

Molly was curled up on her sofa at the end of what had been a very long day. Waking up hungover and discovering Sherlock wanted to talk had certainly put her on edge. Throughout the entire day she had been jumpy. She blamed the two broken test tubes today on her nervousness about talking with him, expecting him to confront her at the lab. Maybe it would be better to just pretend like it hadn't happened. That way nothing would change in their friendship. She had embarrassed herself enough, didn't need a repeat of three years ago.

That's exactly what she'd do. She'd text him, thanking him for making sure she got home safe but asking to never speak of it again. Whatever  ** _it_**  had been. That would be the end of ** _it_**. But just as she reached for her phone, the screen lit up.

_Please come to dinner. Tomorrow 8pm. Baker Street._

Oh no. She had just decided not to talk about  ** _it_**. The last thing she was going to do was agree to a dinner specifically arranged to talk about ** _it_**.

_Thank you, but I think we should just forget last night ever happened._

_You were right, though. Let me try to make it up to you._

_I don't remember what I said, but I'm sure I wasn't right about anything._

_Don't argue. Just come to dinner._

Molly sighed. It was too late at night and she was too tired to keep arguing. Maybe she'd find a way out of dinner sometime tomorrow. Leaving his last text unanswered, Molly muddled through her evening routine cursing the ability of alcohol to inspire one's confidence while inhibiting one's good judgement. Little did she know, it had the same effect on consulting detectives.

End Day 12 -  _Cider_


	13. 13th December

**13th December**

Everything had to be perfect. Tonight was the night. By asking her to dinner at his home, he would be in complete control. There would be no allergies, no drugs, no champagne, no dead bodies, no ice skates, and no angry drunk yelling. His ankle had healed sufficiently for him to go to the grocery and get all the ingredients for a great meal, complete with dessert. Cooking was just chemistry after all. If she would just listen to him, he knew that by the time the evening was concluded, all would be well again. And he would finally get to kiss her. The thought alone was almost as exhilarating as casework.

But everything descended into chaos again when she sent him a message at a quarter till, refusing to come to dinner.

_Sorry, Sherlock. Something came up at work. Can't come to dinner._

Oh, she was going to try to make excuses. Probably still too embarrassed to face him. Why couldn't she understand that he didn't want her apology. He wanted, no, needed, her to accept his. This whole situation was gnawing at him worse than an unsolved case.

_I can hold dinner. Just come over when you are finished._

_Don't wait on my account. Could be very late._

_It isn't any trouble, I assure you._

Molly sighed. She wasn't at work. Hadn't been at work for over an hour. But what other excuse could she give.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. The idea of sharing a meal with you terrifies me. I have no idea what I said to you to make you suddenly so interested in talking. Why don't you just leave me alone so I can die of embarrassment properly, alone." She was talking aloud but Toby was used to it and it made her feel better. Turning back to the screen in her hand, she decided to go with the truth. Well, a version of the truth.

_I won't be coming to dinner. I just can't._

The detective scowled fiercely at her reply. He'd spent the entire day cleaning and cooking. Even to the point of making the peppermint cream candies he and his brother had adored as children. It was all perfect and she was going to see none of it. How could he explain himself if she wouldn't listen to him? It was completely unlike her, but the circumstances of the last couple of weeks had been unlike any interaction he'd ever had with her, so maybe that was understandable.

It was time to improvise. Sherlock put away everything in the kitchen, placing half of the meal he'd prepared in plastic containers. Pulling on his coat and scarf, he calmly took the stairs down to the street. If Molly wouldn't come to dinner, he'd take dinner to her.

Over half an hour after her last text to Sherlock, Molly again looked at her phone. Maybe she should have gone. He was apparently trying to be kind to her. And wasn't that all she had said she wanted from him? She knew he cared, in his own way. It had been harsh to reject him like that. She should apologize. Just ask she picked up her phone, there was a knock at her door, causing her to drop the device and race to the peephole.

There was no one there. Years of experience with Sherlock's 'associates' had taught her that mysterious callers were never a good thing. Molly dashed back to her mobile to call for help. Instead, she saw a message.

_I understand why you don't want to talk. So I brought dinner to you. Enjoy._

Hesitantly, Molly went back and opened her door. Sure enough there was a sack with containers of food on her mat. Hanging from the knob of her door was a small bag of peppermint candies. She smiled pulling a candy out of the bag and popping it in her mouth. Sherlock Holmes had made, and delivered, dinner and dessert. For her. It was so sweet it made her heart want to burst. Closing her door she, picked up her phone on the way to the kitchen.

_Thank you for dinner. Sorry for being so rude._

_Not at all. I understand. But I would still like to talk about us._

Molly swallowed hard. Since when were she and Sherlock an 'us'?

_I suppose we probably should. Tomorrow?_

_If you're ready._

_I'll make the desserts. Although, these peppermint creams are very good._

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

_Mycroft always thought so. Don't tell him I still remember how to make them. He thinks I deleted the recipe._

Molly laughed as she replied.

_I promise. Thanks again. Goodnight, Sherlock._

_Goodnight, Molly._

End Day 13 -  _Peppermint_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know this one is a bit short, but with Candy Canes being an earlier prompt, it was tough to work Peppermint into the plot as well. But will you look at that - three chapters in one day. We're racing onwards! - CG


	14. 14th December

**14th December**

Molly rushed through her front door and dropped her shopping bags on the floor in her haste. She'd had a body come in near the end of her shift and was running very behind. Sherlock was going to be over in less than an hour and she hadn't even begun work on her promised dessert. For a moment, as soon as the body bag was laid out on her slab, she had thought about cancelling. But she doubted he would believe her, she'd used the excuse of work just last night and he'd refused to give up. Nope, they needed to talk. And she'd promised.

With so little time, Molly began frantically measuring and mixing. She left the oven to heat while hurrying through a shower. Just as she was braiding her still-very-damp hair she heard him knock on her door.

"Coming! Hold on!" Molly did one last check of her appearance before bracing herself and opening the door.

"Good evening, I trust I'm not too early?" Sherlock asked. He could easily see how rushed she had been. Just got out of the shower, dressed hurriedly but not without effort to look nice. She didn't really need to worry. Braid an effort to disguise still wet hair leaving a damp line along the back of her shirt. Must have had a long shift. "You could have messaged me. I'm in no hurry."

"No, no, not a problem. Come in, and I'll make some tea." Molly babbled, waving him towards her sitting room on her way into the kitchen. She slid the prepared tray into the oven while fixing tea for them both. Coming back into the room, she placed two mugs on the low table between the sitting chair Sherlock had taken and her sofa. Molly nervously perched on the edge of her seat.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"The other night when you were...not yourself...you made some accusations."

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what Mary and John were thinking calling, but I had no intention of you seeing me like that." Her cheeks had flamed with embarrassment and she stared down into her tea. His still sat untouched on the table.

"You don't need to apologize, Molly."

"Yes, I do. Although, I would like to know what I'm apologizing for. I really don't remember what I said."

"It's not important what you said specifically. The general shape of the argument was quite sound. I've thought at length about it but I'm no closer to an answer."

"An answer to what question?"

Sherlock swallowed and said lowly, "Not important. What is important is that you were right. I have been trying for a fortnight to apologize. I can't answer you as to exactly why. But it has turned into more than that. It's been rather enjoyable spending time with you. However, I seem to keep making a mess of things."

"You can't hold yourself accountable for my drunkenness. No need to apologize for that," she replied. She put her mug down for fear her nervous fingers would spill the scalding liquid in her lap.

"I can't help but think you wouldn't have felt the need to drink in excess if I hadn't made you so mad at me." He stood and began to pace back and forth displaying his own nervous energy. "I keep thinking this should be easier than it is. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult."

"I'm not mad at you, Sherlock. I just don't understand what's going on."

"Exactly!" He stopped pacing yet he could still feel his heart racing as he faced her. She looked as terrified as he felt. "Things have changed between us."

Flustered by his sudden intensity, Molly practically shouted at him. "There's that word again! Since when are you and I an 'us'?"

"Obviously there is some sort of relationship between us, Molly. Otherwise I wouldn't feel...whatever it is this is." His arms were fluttering beside his head as he tried to find the words he wanted. There didn't seem to be any that accurately described his feelings. He'd searched.

Molly stood from her place on the sofa, "Relationship?  _Feelings_!? Slow down. I haven't caught up to the clearly crazy train of thought you are chasing. What are you talking about?

"I don't know!" He stepped toward her, placing his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth was gaping. It was now or never.

A shrieking alarm cut through the air of the flat and they jumped apart. Molly's hands flew to cover her ears and Sherlock spun wildly looking for the source. A haze of smoke was in the air and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it sooner.

"There's smoke, Molly! Get down!" He tried to grab her and pull her towards the door but she was already gone. "Molly! Where are you? We need to get out, now!"

"The cookies!"

He heard her muffled voice coming from her kitchen, the source of the smoke and crying alarm. Rushing into the room, he saw her frantically fanning at her oven. All the pieces fell into place. With some relief, he walked over to throw open the window above her sink and turned off the fire alarm.

"I'm so sorry. *cough* I completely *cough* forgot about them," Molly choked out. She turned and displayed a tray. On it were twelve perfect little gingerbread men, burned to a crisp.

Sherlock struggled to get his pulse and breathing under control. It didn't help as memories of another charred gingerbread figure flitted across his memory. He disguised the associated shudder with a cough.

"It's fine. I don't care for gingerbread anyway."

"Oh, okay. Well, sorry. I just thought, with the holidays...they're traditional."

"No, no," he said, "You're an excellent baker, I just...there are reasons, bad memories." No sense reminding her of 'Jim' right now, that would only make things worse. "Anything I can do to help clean this mess up?"

"No, that's alright. It's getting late. I'm just going to soak the pan overnight and take care of it in the morning. I've got the afternoon shift tomorrow. It's fine." She turned to scrape the blackened cookies into the bin and when she turned back, Sherlock was gone. He'd left without a sound. Sighing deeply she tossed the pan in her sink with a clatter. "It's not fine, though. Is it?"

End Day 14 -  _Gingerbread_


	15. 15th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: "Life...don't talk to me about life." - Marvin, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
> 
> So, as part of moving I have no computer desk at home, which means posting over the weekend is difficult. This has become especially problematic now that what was to become my office is now becoming a baby's room. My sincerest apologies. As an amends, here are the last of last year's chapters. New content starting tomorrow! - CG

**15th December**

"Molly, love, what is that smell?" Mary asked, walking into Molly's flat and wrinkling her nose.

"The singed remnants of what could have been a perfect night." Molly sighed. She was scrubbing at a pan in her kitchen. The lingering smell of charred cookies had served as a reminder all night of the awkward situation she found herself in with Sherlock. Again.

"What?" Mary interrupted Molly's sad thoughts.

"I burned a batch of gingerbread cookies last night," Molly clarified. "Sherlock came over and I was…distracted."

"Oh? How's that?" Mary answered.

"Nothing. Just give me a mo and I'll be ready." Molly replied. She left the kitchen to grab her coat and bag. "Is Mrs. Hudson joining us?"

"No, her hip was bothering her in this cold. And John was off to help Sherlock with whatever mad adventure they're on today. Just us girls."

"Sounds good to me." Molly answered, pulling her door closed and locking it while Mary waited on the landing outside. Mary realized how convenient it was that they had planned the whole morning of holiday shopping in which to chat. She would have to ease into the discussion, though, otherwise Molly would blush, stammer and deny anything was happening between herself and the emotionally stubborn detective.

As they stepped into the large shopping centre, they were laughing having talked about everything from telly to music on the way there. Molly's spirits were significantly lifted. Mary decided it was time to begin steering the conversation to other subjects. She opened by listing some irritating habits John had picked up now that Sherlock was back. Molly refused to take the bait though and just nodded quietly along. Mary sensed she'd need a more direct way to bring Sherlock into the conversation.

"So, what are you looking for today, Molly? A gift for someone special perhaps."

"I finished most of my shopping early but there's always a few people that are difficult to shop for. Some people are just difficult in general actually."

Mary saw that thoughts were finally going in the direction she had hoped.

"I know just what you mean. I haven't the slightest idea what to get for Mrs. Hudson. She's like a mother figure to John but he's hopeless at gift giving. Up to me to find something."

"I got her a lovely little tea set that is also sold by the piece. Sherlock accidentally broke two of her saucers and a cup in the past year. This way she can replace just the pieces next time and not need a whole new set."

"That's brilliant! But it seems like you're always cleaning up after Sherlock's messes. Shouldn't he be the one replacing her china?"

"Oh, no. It's alright. That's not something he'd think about I don't think. Although, lately,..." Molly trailed off as she sifted through a stack of folded jumpers.

"Has he been different lately?" Mary prompted.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I mean Sherlock has always done things his own way. And that's wonderful. But lately, he's just been so...present."

"I don't follow," Mary answered, scrunching up her face and turning away from the holiday display she'd been pretending to be interested in. "Has he been underfoot at the lab more?"

"No, actually. I haven't seen him at work much. It's been more social, asking me to help decorate his flat for Christmas, going to a dinner party at his brother's. Sorry again about the dress. Anyway, then he wanted to talk. About us."

"Ooohhh." Mary might be more successful in this morning of shopping than her husband and Mycroft had been with their whole 'Nutcracker' operation.

"I know! I mean, does he really see me and him as an _us_ or is that just a turn of phrase. Does he even realize what that implies?"

"I don't know, love. But it sounds serious to me."

Molly just shrugged her shoulders and sighed heavily. "I'm confident he cares for me. But I don't want to get hurt. He's really good at that."

Mary nodded. She hadn't been present for the previous Christmas, but had gotten the rundown from John. It was understandable that Molly would be cautious. Sherlock was notoriously rubbish with feelings, especially Molly's. But that was more telling than anything. You always hurt the ones you love the most. Maybe it would be best to let them work it out themselves.

"So, we have only a few hours before you have to get to work. Better get back to serious shopping."

"Right," Molly chirped, brightening instantly and squaring her shoulders. "Presents for a 'landlady-not-housekeeper' from you, a 'soldier-and-a-doctor' from me."

"Oooh, I can give you some great ideas for John."

So the ladies set off in earnest with elbows linked and determined smiles. Within the next two hours they'd found the perfect scarf for Mrs. Hudson and some new journals for John. It was just as they were on their way out that Molly saw the perfect present for Sherlock.

"That's it!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely, no question."

"If you're sure." Mary shrugged. She knew that Molly had a better insight into the mind of the sleuth than most, but even still. "You know, you guys are quite the pair."

Molly blushed but was still confident in the gift she purchased for the man who was, unbeknownst to her, on the other side of London with his own Watson.

"What do you mean a present?"

"You need to get her a gift, Sherlock. If you're serious about this."

"Of course I'm serious, but the gift exchange last time was less than ideal."

"If you mean you were a complete tosser."

"Yes. And I've already been trying to give her a gift. It just hasn't worked out."

"Well, there's still plenty of time until Christmas. In the meantime, might we get back to the client."

Sherlock and John both turned to face the rather confused looking elderly couple on the couch.

"Right, Mr. and Mrs. Haversham. You say that you were out shopping and saw something unusual."

End Day 15 -  _Presents_


	16. 16th December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Wow, it's hard to believe it's been nearly a year since I updated anything. I sincerely apologize. I'm sitting here wondering where the year has gone. I blinked in March and suddenly it was July and now I'm sitting here three months pregnant a week before Christmas 2014. I do have the better part of the conclusion chapters sketched out and will be doing my very best to get this one finished this year. I also have some plans for other WIPs and a couple of new ideas. So thanks for bearing with me, anyone who has, and welcome to anyone just joining now. Writing for you all is one of my favorite things in the world to do. Thanks for always being so kind! - CG

**16th December**

Mary sighed and started texting her friend. One should really never let husbands do match-making as they were typically too forward. Yet, even Mary would admit it was adorable the lengths John was willing to go to for his friend. It didn't hurt that he had offered to cook a full roast, something she loved but that was well beyond her culinary skills. So she texted Molly with only a shake of her head and a small smile on her lips.

_Know you've a long shift, so please join us for supper. Just come by ours when you get off. ;-)_

_Thanks! Can't resist a home cooked meal, esp. if John's cooking. :-P Be there around 8._

_-x-x-x-_

At seven sharp, Sherlock was the first to arrive for John's surprise dinner party, even if he didn't know it. Mary welcomed him in and together the three sat having pleasant conversation. Well, mostly Sherlock listened as John and Mary conversed, only making occasional noises of affirmation to show he was still at least partially tuned into the general chatter. After a half hour though, John had run out of topics and it was getting harder to put off eating.

"So, I guess I'll start setting the table," Mary suggested. She hadn't before Sherlock arrived, knowing he would immediately question why there were four place settings for three people. Although, in his current self-absorbed state, he might not notice if Saint Nicholas sprung from the fireplace in front of them.

"Yes, that would be a good idea. I'll get that roast out of the oven," John said, rising to join Mary in the kitchen. There was no answer from the detective who seemed to sink further into his own thoughts. Once they were out of earshot, John began to furiously whisper to his wife.

"He's nearly catatonic in there."

"I know! He's clearly still mulling over the whole situation with Molly. I don't think they've spoken since the other night."

"Yeah. This might not be the best time for them to be together. Why don't we just start eating and try to hurry him out before she gets here?"

With that decided, John and Mary rushed through the rest of their dinner preparations. At five minutes to eight, everything was on the table and they were beginning to think they might pull this off after all. Sherlock had just joined them at the table when the bell rang.

"Hullo! Sorry I'm late!" Molly said as Mary hurried to the foyer to help with her coat.

"Not at all, just on time. John just got the roast on the table," Mary answered.

"Oh, it smells lovely. I'm absolutely starved," Molly chattered happily as she moved towards the Watson's kitchen. It was only then she saw the other dinner guest and her speech trailed off. "Oh, uhm, hi…"

Sherlock sat blinking at Molly's sudden arrival. He hadn't be able to stop thinking about her these last few days and to have her suddenly before him, he wondered momentarily if he had thought her into existence. It was only when she sat across the table from him and John spoke that he realized she was actually real.

"Great you could make it, Molly. I would ask how your day was but…"

"Yes, not exactly dinner conversation," Molly laughed, apparently coming out of her own shock at seeing the detective. If he was going to be silent tonight, she thought, that would definitely make dinner easier. Perhaps, he was just going to let it go like she had wanted to days ago.

And Sherlock did stay relatively mute throughout the meal, eventually nodding a greeting to Molly but then just resuming his previous hums of acknowledgement from before. John felt that something needed to happen to get the two talking and suggested they move to the sitting room for dessert.

"Oh, and John, why don't you light a fire? It always makes it so cozy. Love a fire in the wintertime."

"Sure. Sherlock would you like to grab the matches from the drawer there," John asked while stacking a couple of logs in the fireplace.

It only took a couple of minutes for John and Sherlock to get the kindling to light. While they continued to fuss with the logs, however, Mary joined Molly on the sofa to try and coax her to talk with Sherlock.

"Why don't you just say something?" Mary whispered.

"I don't know what to say!" Molly whispered back, "I knew where we stood as friends, but now I'm not so sure. What if he finally wants something more?"

"How is that a problem? That's what you've been waiting for."

"I know, but, I just don't know if he really wants to be in a relationship or if it's all a self-sacrificing apology for all I've done for him. If that's the case, I don't want it. I'd rather we just go back to the way things were before." Molly's voice rose through her little speech and Sherlock picked up on the last sentence.

He began to wonder if maybe he had been too late. Now that he wanted to move forward, she had decided to stop trying. He abruptly turned to the ladies on the couch.

"Molly, could I have a word with you, please?" Everyone in the room stared at Sherlock. It was the first complete sentence he had spoken all evening.

"Yeah, sure." Molly rose and the two of them stepped out of the room.

Mary shot her husband a 'look' and waved for him to join her in eavesdropping.

"As I said the other day, Sherlock, I'm sorry for anything I have said or done that has made you regret being friends with me."

"I don't regret your friendship at all, Molly. But I sense that you may regret mine."

"Absolutely not! Where did you get that idea?"

"Just now, when you were telling Mary that you would rather go back to the way things were before."

"Yes, but when I said before I didn't mean  _before_ -before, I meant…" Molly was interrupted as Mary let out a scream, quickly joined by John shouting and noises of furniture being upset in the other room. Sherlock and Molly raced back in to see what the fuss was about.

There was a bird flying madly around the Watson's sitting room. Mary was trying to catch it while John chased it towards her waving a towel. Sherlock joined in the fray and Molly ran to open a window. That did the trick, and the startled animal exited through it. They all collapsed on the furniture and dissolved into laughter.

"Must have come in through the fireplace," Sherlock said, "Should've checked before we lit the fire."

"Yeah, need to have the flue cover checked," John conceded.

"That was far more after-dinner exercise than I needed," Mary sighed.

"Agreed," Molly added. "Speaking of, it is getting late and I better get headed home. Thank you both for the meal." Sherlock wanted to ask her to stay, but the little moment they'd had to talk things over had flown like that bird out of the fireplace.

End Day 16 -  _Fireplace_


	17. 17th December

**17th December**

Sherlock spent the day in his chair thinking about his partial conversation with Molly. He was more lost and confused than he had ever been before about how to approach her and the entire emotional mess he had created. And if he was going to be honest with himself, this  _was_  his fault. Finally, he decided the only option was to confront Molly at home, it was after her shift by now. These plans were dashed abruptly, however, by some rather diminutive clients waiting on his doorstep when he came down. Just as he was getting them settled he heard more footsteps in his stairwell. Impatient footsteps. Well, this would certainly be interesting.

Molly clambered up the stairs towards Sherlock's flat. She had also spent the whole day rehearsing what she wanted to say to him and wasn't going to wait another minute. The words stuck in her throat though when she burst through his door and took in the scene.

Seated quietly on and beside Sherlock's sofa were six children whose ages appeared to range from eleven to five. The eldest looked a bit familiar to Molly but she couldn't place where she'd seen him. He stood beside the couch which was packed with a girl, close to his age, two boys a few years younger, and the youngest boy and girl - twins.

"Ah, Molly, perfect timing. My clients were just about to explain their delightful mystery to me."

Sherlock seemed absolutely enthralled by the prospect of the case, and Molly would admit he always seemed rather good with children, so she shrugged out of her coat and took the position of chief notetaker at the table.

"So, Archie, what have you brought me?"

"Well, Mr. Sherlock, it's nothing near as exciting as those beheadings…" Molly shot a look at Sherlock who only shrugged.

"Very few things are as exciting at a beheading, I'm afraid, but continue."

"Yeah, anyway, Emma was the first one to notice it. Then Jimmy and Walt had it happen and we thought something might be up. But it wasn't until the twins were bawling in the stairs yesterday that I thought we needed an expert."

"What exactly happened?" Molly asked softly.

"Santa took back our socks!" the twins cried together.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Sherlock suggested, assuming his customary pose.

"It started a couple of weeks ago. My mum and I hung our stockings, just like we do every year," Emma started. "We always do it on the first day of December, for as long as I can remember. But three days later, when we got back from shopping, they were gone! Both of 'em, mine and my mum's. She said she didn't take them down, but I worried that maybe I'd done something not good and she'd put it back if I was extra good."

"Hmmm," Sherlock murmured but gestured for the children to continue.

"Ours was next," Walt piped up. "My sock as well as both me parents. Gone, just like that the next night."

"Yeah, he told me when we walked to school on Monday," Jimmy added. "And I told him that mine had disappeared over the weekend. None of our folks know what happened, so we started our own investigation."

"What did you find?" Molly asked.

"A whole lot of nothing," Archie answered dejectedly. "That's why when Sophie and Ollie's socks got stolen we figured it was time for real help. So can you help us, Mr. Sherlock? Even if it's not a murder?"

Molly couldn't help but smile when he clapped his hands and stood dramatically.

"Of course! I'm the world's best consulting detective and you have secured my services. Can you get me in to the scene of the crime?"

A chorus of excited voices erupted from the couch as all the children started talking at once. Molly and Emma helped the little ones into their coats and, with Archie leading the way, the whole group left Baker street heading to an apartment building about a half hour walk away. By the time they arrived, Molly was carrying little Sophie and holding Emma's hand. Ollie was on Sherlock's shoulders with Jimmy and Walt clutching his coat in their mittened hands. They made quite an scene, she was sure.

"Whelp, here we are," Archie pointed to the building. "That's mine up there. Emma lives down at the other end and the others are one floor up."

"Yes. Are all the flats laid out basically the same inside?"

"Unh huh," Jimmy said, nodding. "They all look just alike. 'Cept Walt and the twins have three bedrooms in their's. Rest of us's just got two."

"Are pets allowed in your building?"

"No," Emma said sadly. "I wanted a puppy last year but my mum said that we can't have any pets 'cause of the super. He's not a very nice man. Not even a goldfish!"

"But that building over there has 'em," Walt added, pointing at the building perpendicular to theirs. "I see folks walking dogs in the garden all the time."

"And I got in trouble for making faces at the cats in the windows on the way to school once," Jimmy scowled and Molly had to refrain from giggling. "Perhaps we can get inside, Sherlock. It's a bit cold out here."

"Of course. Archie, can we see your tree?"

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Sherlock. Of course."

Once inside, Sherlock made quite a show of inspecting the tree and mantle with his pocket magnifying glass. And it caused quite a lot of giggles from the kids when he asked Molly to crawl around behind the tree to see if she saw anything and he made faces behind her back. Eventually, though, Sherlock was prepared to share his deductions.

"I'm afraid, children, that it is not Santa who has taken away your stockings. Or even your parents. You have, in fact, been cat burgled."

"But what would a burglar want with our empty socks!" Jimmy exclaimed.

"Yeah, wouldn't they take the telly or something?" Walt asked.

"No, you misunderstand. A  _cat_  burglar. As in,  _Felis silvestris catus_ , the common house cat."

"Sherlock! You cannot be serious," Molly exclaimed.

"It's obvious. Look, all of these flats have the same layout with windows and fire escapes in every living room. And this building has radiators for heat. Their parents all ventilate the room a bit every few nights or so to keep the air from being too dry or too humid. No dust accumulation on any of the sills, signs of frequent opening and closing even in the winter. When the windows are open, the cat burglar has the perfect opportunity. It's actually a fairly common occurrence." Sherlock here paused and pulled up a reference on his phone, showing it to Molly. She scrolled down, it was a listing of news reports of cats stealing things throughout the UK, countries in Europe, even in America. Apparently, socks were a favorite theme, but some cats stole small toys and others just anything they could carry off.

"The final proof is the cat hair on your tree skirt, Archie, when you don't have a pet. The culprit stopped to consider your tree ornaments before choosing to take his real prize, the stockings hung on your mantle," Sherlock continued, turning back to the children, "Chances are one of your neighbors has an increased number of children's stockings in their house and would gladly return them to you."

"That's brilliant, Mr. Sherlock!" Archie said, hurrying over to hug his hero.

The children led Molly and Sherlock to share his conclusion with Walt's grandpa, Mr. O'Brien, who was in charge of watching them (and only mildly upset that they'd gone off on their own). He was equally impressed and thankful to Sherlock for lending his talents to the job. He assured them both that he'd make sure the kids got their stockings back, as well as letting all the parents know to be on the lookout for future feline interference.

"Thank you again, Mr. Sherlock," Archie said as he led them to the door, "And you were lots of fun too, Ms. Molly. When you get married, can I be part of your wedding too?"

Suddenly, Molly remembered where she'd met Archie before. He'd been the kid at John and Mary's wedding. She felt her ears burning with blush, but before she could sputter a correction, Archie had bounded back up the stairs and Sherlock was walking off into the cold.

The walk back to Baker Street was uncomfortably quiet. Molly didn't know what to say, her speech from earlier seemed entirely inappropriate now. And Sherlock didn't seem confused as much as nervous, like he knew what he wanted to say but wasn't sure now was the time. When they finally came to his door, though, he seemed to have found his resolve.

"Thank you, Molly."

"Like always, Sherlock, it was my pleasure."

"Well, that isn't  _entirely_  true. I know I'm sometimes...difficult." Molly smiled, difficult was an understatement, but let him continue. "What I mean to say is...would you like to join me tomorrow… for more…"

"Crime solving?" Molly suggested.

"Nooo, just to spend time together. I have something I want to tell you, but now isn't the time."

"Ah, okay. A mystery date then. Well, not date, more of a friends-doing-stuff-together kind of...thing," Molly stammered. Apparently she still couldn't say the right thing to him, even after all these years. "Just, um, text me the details. I'll see you, Sherlock."

With that, Sherlock watched as an again blushing Molly hurried off to the nearby tube station. He smiled to himself. He knew exactly what to do to not only win a kiss, but perhaps so much more.

End Day 17 -  _Stockings_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Wow! Another difficult word leads to another long chapter. This is actually the longest chapter so far but there was such good dialogue from the kids, I couldn't cut any of it. And do forgive my inclusion of S3's Archie (that seems to be a fandom name for the Page Boy at the Watson Wedding). The other names are some I'm considering for my little one that I wanted to see what they sounded like on paper.
> 
> And much like the 'tinsel' episode earlier, this case has an element of realism to it. You can indeed find a whole host of stories online about house cats stealing items, most often socks and underwear, and hoarding them. It's really quite cute. - CG


	18. 18th December

**18th December**

Over the course of the last few weeks, Sherlock had learned quite a bit about Molly. Although her talents there were par excellence in the laboratory, he knew her skills in the kitchen were equally formidable. Just last week she had cooked Mrs. Hudson's infamous mince pies and, had they not allowed them to burn, he was sure her gingerbread would have been excellent as well. So, as the first step in establishing a new relationship with her, he was prepared to endure some mild discomfort by cashing in a long-standing favor.

_You are still working the day shift today, correct?_

Molly glanced at her mobile as it was perched on a stack of folders. She had been anticipating a text from him today, but she was a bit surprised he started with a question. It was almost like he was unsure. A very un-Sherlock-like attitude.

_Yes. 7 to 4 today._

_Good. 194 Kensington Park Rd. 5pm._

She smiled. That was much more like him, direct, demanding, disorienting. Thankfully, she hadn't made any plans for this evening. He had mentioned wanting to see her today, but she thought it would be at the lab or Baker Street. Her curiosity was piqued, but she resisted the urge to look up the address in advance. Much like Sherlock, she loved a good mystery.

When her shift ended, Molly decided to forgo the cost of a cab in preference for the underground and a stroll through the shops of Kensington Park road. When she finally arrived at Sherlock's mystery location, she was even more confused. Surely there wasn't something here to interest him. It was a boutique biscuit shop! Shrugging her bag on her shoulder, she entered the cute little shop and gasped at all the delightfully frilly pastries on display. It was like stepping inside a gingerbread house.

"Hello," greeted the woman behind the counter, "Can I help you find something?"

"Actually, I am looking for someone. He said to meet him here, but this can't be right. This isn't somewhere he would  _ever_  go."

"Bit tall, dark hair, ridiculous coat, and an air of superiority?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Yes, actually, you know him?" Molly asked, eyes wide.

The woman laughed, "Oh, too well. C'mon, he's in the classroom."

Classroom! Molly followed in stunned silence as she was led downstairs to a room marked "Icing School" in curly script. There sat Sherlock, having traded his coat for a bright white apron, and two glasses of sparkling wine.

He didn't look up at her, his concentration focused on the small biscuit before him. He held a piping bag in a death grip above it. Molly giggled at the sight. This apparently startled the detective and a gush of icing oozed onto his work. Sighing dramatically, he looked up at her.

"I'm afraid, this is going to take a while Kate."

The woman who had led Molly downstairs just laughed. "Maybe you would do better if you relax a bit?"

"What  _are_  you doing, Sherlock?" Molly finally dared to ask.

"I've decided to take up baking, much safer profession than detecting."

"Seriously?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Too gullible. Of course not. I asked you here for a class by what I'm informed are very high caliber pastry decorators. I solved a case for the owner several years back and, factoring in your love of baking and general holiday cheerfulness, not to mention it is a chance for us to spend time together in a mutually agreeable social setting, I thought you would appreciate the opportunity. After hours classes are served prosecco as opposed to coffee and tea. Although, if you'd prefer…was I wrong?" Sherlock slowed to a stop, that unsure expression from before was back.

"No! No, wine is great! I mean, it's fine," Molly smiled widely. "This is all wonderful. Where do we start?"

For the next hour, Kate led a private icing lesson for them both. The biscuits were all representations of the twelve days of Christmas. Molly's all turned out to look exactly like Kate's demonstrations, who even joked about hiring her on if the pathology thing didn't work out. Poor Sherlock, however, was constantly cursing as blobs of colored icing ended up in all of the wrong places. It looked almost childlike, but Molly assured him it was most definitely the fault of his piping bags, not at all the fact that he had no skill for it. She was warm all over, more from the laughter than wine, when it was finally time for them to pack up their creations and go home.

"That was so much fun, Sherlock, thank you."

"You are very welcome," Sherlock answered as they shared a cab back toward their homes. He had insisted on going to her building first and on paying. "I hadn't expected to enjoy it myself, but the final product is at least edible if not aesthetically pleasing."

Molly laughed, "Yes, that is a bonus. But I can't help but wonder, if you didn't think you'd like it, why go?"

"For you, of course. I thought that was the point of dating someone, to do enjoyable things together. I doubted you wanted to do more dissection after a full day's work, although I would have found that much more enjoyable," he rambled.

The air in the cab was suddenly gone. Molly's ears were ringing. She must have misheard him. Then images from the last two weeks filtered through her head. Sherlock decorating her flat, trying to ask her to hot chocolate, taking her to Mycroft's party, cooking dinner for her. Was she really that slow?

"Molly? Are you alright?" Sherlock asked with a tilt of his head. She was just staring at him with the most blank expression on her face. After a couple of minutes he realized why John always found it unnerving when he did the same. He figured he would just have to wait it out.

"Uh," Molly finally said. "Out of curiosity...not that it matters, but...um, how long have you been...I mean, rather...is this a…" Molly sighed. "I can't find the words, Sherlock."

"Molly Hooper, you are one of very few people I can consider a friend. And I am aware that in the past I have treated you in a horrible fashion. To be fair, I treat most everyone abominably at least part of the time, but I digress. I was searching for a way to make that up to you, using the spirit of the season, as it were, for inspiration. However, over the course of these several days, with much thinking, I've decided I don't want to apologize anymore."

Molly gasped in shock.

"That goes without saying," he continued, waving a hand. "What I mean, is that I would very much like to continue to see you outside of the lab. I would like to date you... if you'll still have me."

Silence again enveloped them as the cab came to a stop in front of her building. Slowly, Molly turned to Sherlock with a wide smile. Sherlock was filled with pleasure and pride. He had finally managed to say the right thing. But then she climbed out of the cab, winked at him and closed the door. She waved while the cabbie drove his startled passenger away. That wasn't the excited hug and kiss he had pictured at all.

End Day 18 -  _Cookies_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Goodness, working cookies into this story again was work. Had to take the detective out of his comfort zone to get it done. As an aside, the Biscuiteers is a real location on Kensington Park road and they do actually have classes where people can ice biscuits. They look absolutely beautiful and delicious! I really recommend taking a look at their website if you like pretty baked goods (and who doesn't?).
> 
> In terms of story, this was the perfect opportunity to clear the air. Now at least they are on the same page. Question now is, will Molly take the leap? - CG


End file.
